


Up the Mountain

by Ecris



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-01 12:10:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13294596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecris/pseuds/Ecris
Summary: After Calamity Ganon, Zelda and Link have to learn how to live without the threat of a 10,000 year old beast plaguing their lives, their decisions, their home. Sometimes, the hardest battles are the ones fought without swords.Same timeline as The Knight of Tarrey Town, but neither are required reads for the other.





	1. Blank Slate

Part One-

He can’t remember when he fell asleep. Sometime after his last bite of paella and adding another log to the fire, he must have dozed off. 

It isn’t unusual for him to accidentally fall asleep while waiting for the night to pass. But he’d never slept so late before. Every time Link would close his eyes by a fire, he could still hear the night around him. His body would twitch restlessly, a hare’s trigger away from snapping back into reality. This was the first time he hasn’t woken up right after the morning chill dissipated.The sun is halfway to its peak, and when he pulls the Sheikah slate out from under his shoulder, it reads 10:17.

He blinks as he puts the slate down in his lap and sits up to rub the sleep out of his eyes. The Grounds of Hyrule Castle become clear around him. Dimly, the sleepy part of him wonders why he was reckless enough to sleep well into the day in the most dangerous part of Hyrule. The part of him that’s kept him awake each night, that’s a little bit quicker to the punch, realize the quiet morning around him and the clear skies means he is safe.

He looks over to his left, expecting to find Zelda sleeping in as well. She’d fallen asleep almost as soon as she sat down. He’d had to keep her awake with the smell of good food, and when that didn’t work, and she almost fell asleep while chewing, he turned to nudging her foot in intervals to jerk her awake. She was so exhausted, he could see it in her eyes, and the way her hands and shoulders shook. Even when she slept. Zelda had been fighting for so long, the exhaustion seemed to be bone deep. 

Link remembered her well enough to remember how she wore fatigue.

But Zelda isn’t sleeping in. She isn’t there at all. His head whips around, frantically searching their small refuge outside the castle walls. There’s only some grass, bent over and distressed from her weight but distinctly lacking a sleeping princess.

Link is moving before he fully straps on his sword and shield.

Where had she gone?

Without him?

What if she ran into a Moblin?

What if she fell from exhaustion?

His mind raced with a thousand different possibilities while his feet carried him from the library, to the throne room, to the dining hall, to the guard house, to-

Oh.

Zelda’s study looks exactly the same as it did yesterday. Exactly as it has every time he’s risked coming to the Castle for weapons, for armor, for a hint of a memory. Every time he’d been drawn back to the study, familiarity tugging at the back of his mind but never giving him anything more than the urge to make sure these curtains stay open, those stay closed, this book belongs on the right side of the desk.

These things are important, but why he never knew. Despite the barest of changes it always looked the same way it felt- barren.

Now, with Zelda looking out the window facing the grounds, things come together in his mind. She always watched the progress of the Guardians in the courtyard through that window. The other stayed closed- through it you could see the window of the King’s quarters. A futile attempt to hide from him. This room was Zelda’s. Now, it felt right.

Zelda’s hand reaches down to the book on the desk, not picking it up, but just brushing the dust off its cover. Link knows most of its pages are missing or blackened beyond legibility, but it had seemed important to return it to its place nonetheless. He must have been right, because Zelda’s face falls as she sees the sad state of it.

Link steps forward, his instincts demanding to do something to bring back the small moment of peace she had, but his foot kicks a loose stone and Zelda yelps. Her hand shoots out, like he might be Ganon himself, before she deflates in relief. It’s just Link, one leg awkwardly in the air and sword and shield still drawn.

“Oh,” she breathes, “it’s just you.” 

Zelda pulls her outstretched arm back to her side after a moment of hesitation. “Sorry if I woke you, you looked so peaceful, I thought you deserved the rest.”

Link raises an eyebrow, giving her a pointed glare as he sheaths his sword and puts his shield away.

“What?” Zelda asks, a little defensively. “What’s that look for?”

She rolls her eyes when he gestures to the sword on his back. “After all this time, I believe I can handle myself.”

Link isn’t too convinced. Comparing a moblin to Ganon might be like comparing a mouse to a Lynel, but he wouldn’t face either beast without a sword and shield, and Zelda is still wrapped in a torn and tattered prayer dress.

“Besides,” Zelda says, pulling him out of his thoughts, “all the guardians are inactive, now they’re no longer under Ganon’s control.”

Link’s eyebrow rises with the other in disbelief. He sweeps his hand to the left to sign- all?

Zelda nods. “They might not work at all anymore,” she trails off, sounding disappointed. As if she had been looking forward to fixing them again. But she blinks, and shakes her head. “They’ll have to be destroyed. Nothing like this can happen again.”

She turns away from the courtyard with an air of finality, and Link follows her back to the desk without thinking. He nearly bumps into her when she stops suddenly. Her book is still sitting at the edge of the desk, and she glares at it. With the same dismissiveness, she picks up the book and tosses it to the other side of the room, where the destruction is the worst.

“It was a poor idea anyway,” Zelda attempts a light tone, but it’s a poor cover of the biting words. A glance at LInk tells her she didn’t succeed. Zelda deflates and wraps her arms around herself. “I didn’t know my… tinkering… would lead to all this. I should have listened to Father.”

She turns back to the closed window and frowns. “I didn’t want… they weren’t supposed to…”

Link tenses as Zelda’s lip begins to tremble. She holds it beneath her teeth, but a small sob escapes anyway. Zelda buries her head in her hands to hide tears already falling from her eyes.

“They were supposed to help us,” she whispers brokenly. “Instead I’ve ruined us all!”

Link jumps at the sudden force of her voice. He’s frozen in place, staring as Zelda’s shoulder begin to shake as she cries.

Not once had he ever considered that Zelda was at fault for the destruction around him. No matter how many times he had heard others say it, had heard her say it herself. He’d watched her pray every day and night and dedicate herself to a mute god and not one did he blame her for its silence. His fault? Yes. It’d been a guilt plaguing him ever since he’d left the plateau. Knowing he’d failed at the most critical moment, slept through all the aftermath, useless, helping no one, and taking so long to finally, finally return to his strength and defeat Ganon, like he should have, one hundred years ago- Zelda had never been at fault.

But seeing Zelda finally lose her strength in her ruined sanctuary, and fall to her knees crying, he finally understand something he had been told a thousand times over, by a hundred caring hearts he’d met on his journey.

Link kneels next to her and wraps an arm around her tight, squeezing hard just to try and stop the shivers. She lets her head fall on his shoulder, which feels familiar in the worst sort of way. He remembers this- Zelda crying into his tunic -all too well. Sometimes it took minutes, sometimes hours. He never knew what to say, nothing that she didn’t already know. It was enough to be there with her. She was always strong enough to get back up if she allowed herself to break down.

This time, when her sobs fade away, and she wipes her tears away with the back of a dirty hand, he pulls away and taps her gently on the knee.

“Hm?”, Zelda sniffles, looking up at him.

It’s not your fault, he signs.

“What are you saying, of course it’s-”

NO, Link signs so forcefully Zelda’s jaw clicks shut.

No, he signs more carefully, it isn’t.

Zelda narrows her eyes at him, but says nothing.

Link lets his hands fall for a moment. Every time he’d been told the same thing, he had dismissed it over and over. But he remembers when he had heard it and believed it.

He takes a slow breath. I thought the same thing too. My own fault.

“Link, no-” Zelda falters when he holds up a hand to stop her.

Because I failed to defeat Calamity Ganon the first time, Link continues. Because I wasn’t there to help you, or anyone. Because I had failed everyone, but I was still alive. Because I forgot them. Because I still couldn’t defeat him. Because I was too weak.

Zelda stares at him wide-eyed, head shaking slightly, mouth twisting as if it hurts to stay silent. He knows she wants to deny his blame just as much as he needs to deny hers. He pushes on, unused to speaking so openly in front of her, but determined to keep his hands steady.

I did fail, Link smiles weakly. We all failed. It cost… so much more than we had imagined.

Zelda sniffles, and Link flinches. Too much.

But we didn’t kill our friends. We didn’t take hundreds of innocent lives. We gave everything- you gave everything, more than anyone else, to protect Hyrule.

“But if I had never suggested we use the Guardians, if I hadn’t sent the Champions to their Beasts-”

Calamity Ganon would have used them anyway.

“What?”

Do you remember how you found the first Guardian?

“Well, yes…” Zelda frowns. “It had been… There was a storm. A storm that had lasted a week, and afterwards, people were finding Guardians everywhere. We started uncovering them, relating them to texts, to old legends, but still-”

On a plateau, in the Gerudo Highlands, Link interjects, his hands fast and a bit forceful, there are two Guardian remains. 

Zelda blinks in confusion, but lets him speak.

They look like the rest of the Guardians, after the storm. One of them still buried, the other one, active.

“Active?”

Link nods.

Zelda’s eye widen. “But, we never uncovered any Guardians in the Highlands. I didn’t even know there were any in the southwest. If… if that Guardian was active, even without our repairs… That-”

She gasps and grabs Link’s hand. “Link. Link! Calamity Ganon, he uncovered all of the Guardians! He was already planning to use them against us.”

Link nods again, and Zelda laughs, a bit too harshly. She stares at him, looking a mix of elated and hysteric. She wipes the rest of the tears from her face and takes a deep breath to compose herself. When she looks at Link again, the tension drops out of his shoulders.

“Thank you, Link,” Zelda smiles. She sniffles again too, clearing out the last of it all. “I suppose it was only our part to fall into his scheme. All we did to prepare was for nought.”

As if realizing exactly what she said, Zelda chokes on her next words. “It was all pointless. We… may have even sped up the process. If we hadn’t chosen Champions for the Divine Beasts… Urbosa, Mipha… They might have been-”

Link taps her knee again- almost punches it really- signing a harsh no over the small whine of protest she gives.

They wanted to help. We all did.

Zelda frowns. “We can’t excuse our mistakes just because we meant well.”

Link stands suddenly, making Zelda fall back with a small oof. He crosses the room, kneels next to what used to be her bedside table, and starts digging through the rubble. Bits and pieces get thrown across the floor before Zelda hears him make a ha! in triumph. He scoots back over to her on his knees, and she raises an eyebrow at what he’s holding.

It’s a half broken slate. The only other one she’d found. There wasn’t enough to repair it, not eve a screen, but it’d been useful fodder to decode Sheikah technology, and fix the one Link now carries. She’d abandoned it long ago to her catch-all of a nightstand drawer, after she found out regular glass couldn’t replace whatever the Sheikah had used. Zelda opens her mouth to ask why he decided to find that of all things, but Link quiets her with a look.

He pulls the Sheikah slate from his belt and hands both of them to her, careful to not spill any of the crushed bits of the broken one.

With both his hands free, Link can sign again.

You fixed this, he points to his slate, signing firmly. You can’t change what happened. But you can fix it now.

Zelda stares at the two slates in her hands. Really, one and a quarter. She sighs, puts them both down in her lap, and examines the pieces of her failed attempt. There’s a part of a handle still, and most of the Sheikah eye is intact. It’s survived Ganon in the way much of most Sheikah technology- without a scratch. Pity it doesn’t really help matters.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Link, still watching her intensely.

She picks up the two, mostly unbroken pieces, and holds them up with forefinger and thumb of both hands. “There’s just a tiny difference between fixing a slate, and Hyrule itself.”

Link shrugs. You protected Hyrule for one hundred years. Should be easy enough.

Zelda breaths a laugh at his easy confidence. Looking around her, at her empty, dust-covered study, it seems like a ridiculous dream. How could she ever make up for failing all of them? All of her friends? All of her kingdom.

Heir to a throne of nothing, her father had said.

She grips the Sheikah slate tights in her hands. That can’t happen. She won’t let it.

Zelda rises to her feet, handing Link his slate and brushing off her already ruined dress. She looks down at it, the hard look in her eyes softening, as if she just now realized she’s still wearing the same dress from over a century ago. 

“I’ll have to get something else to wear,” Zelda murmurs. She hopes her chest is somewhere under the massive pile of rubble in the corner of the room, hopefully it wasn’t crushed. She moves past Link, takes a hold of a chunk of stone that’s fallen, and pulls.

After a moment of struggling, she glances back at a stunned Link. “Help me with this, would you?”

Immediately he joins her, and the rock is pushed to the floor. Link shoots her a look even as Zelda continues clearing the debris, completely oblivious.

“It’ll be a long time until we can even attempt repairs to the castle,” she says between breaths, “but we can start here.”

Link nods, and ducks his head to hide his smile, and the eyeroll he knows Zelda would definitely object to. Zelda is too focused to notice anyway.

It takes them three hours just to uncover Zelda’s chest of drawers, miraculously unharmed. Zelda mutters proudly, something about good Hylian craftsman and how she wishes she could take a bath before she changes.

After a glance over at Link, who stares awkwardly back, and a promise to be back soon, Zelda behind a wall. Pushing down the initial panic at Zelda being out of sight, Link starts digging out her bed. 

He doesn’t blame her too much for returning nearly an hour later, free of a century’s worth of dirt and looking much happier in her own tunic and trousers. But she immediately gets her hands dirty anyway, and soon they’ve cleared out all the debris, uncovered her four poster bed (now, a lonely bed frame), gathered enough bricks to repair the walls, started a fire, and started dinner. Zelda eats with worse manners than Link, speaking between her mouthfuls of drumstick.

“It’s not much,” she manages to get out, “but it’ll do.”

She smiles at Link, who grins back. Zelda picks up another leg and twirls it in her hands before taking another massive bite. “We’ll have to finish tomorrow,” she pauses to swallow, “but it’s a good start.

“Don’t you think?”


	2. Moments in Time

_Finally._ It felt so indescribably good to stand in the center of her study and feel at home. Sure, they hadn't been able to save much. Her mattress was only useful as fuel for the first they lit to burn the rest of her ruined books and the rotten wood of her bookshelves. The bed frame was still mostly intact. The wooden headboard had rotted away, but the metal base was sturdy enough for them to fit in wooden slats and pile with Zelda’s winter blankets, stored safe in her chest.

 

It looks more like she’s been living out of it for weeks without cleaning, but, she supposes, they _had_ been living out of it for the past few days as they tried to fix it up… even though the ceiling hasn’t always been so lopsided. Link had worked his hands almost raw trying to piece the masonry back together. The last thing she wants to do is criticize his work.

 

In any case, Link had told her who, exactly, had taught her knight how to build a wall. After she’d promised to never tell Bolson he had had any part in the patchwork repairs, he told her about the man’s oddly talented construction company.

 

Whoever managed to make something new and unite so many while the threat of Calamity Ganon hung over their head has her utmost respect.

 

She decided immediately to meet with him, and ask for his help rebuilding Hyrule. And maybe, along the way, Link could redeem himself from his work on her tower. Before anything, she knew she had to see Impa. To see her old friend again, miraculously alive, to be able to tell her everything and know someone in this strange new Hyrule, would be a star to heal the wounds on her soul left over from the past century. Zelda was more than eager to start the journey. Leave behind this castle and return to some sense of normalcy.

 

Smiling to herself, she steps out of her study into the warm sunlight. Warm summer air carries the scent of last night’s rain, and she’s glad she forgot to braid her hair this morning. The breeze running through her unbound hair is just as good as she remembers, and somehow even better.

 

Looking out over the ruins of the Castle, and Hyrule itself, she wonders what happened. Just three days ago, the sight filled her with despair. The prophecy, come to fruition. Her, heir to nothing. Now, the sight fills her with fire. Zelda doesn’t dare call it hope. Determination, maybe. Determination to prove her father wrong. To be the leader her people need. To right a wrong, not entire hers, but on she feels the weight of anyway.

 

She only has to look to the grassy green below to realize exactly what gave her that confidence.

 

Link is sprawled out on the grass, eyes closed, but knowing him, only resting them. If she hadn’t heard him practicing his forms from all the way in the study, she might think he’s relaxing and enjoying the gentle breeze and warm sun. But the sword and his shield are lying carefully next to him, ever ready. Only a small break to his dedication. Truly an inspiration, she thinks ruefully as he tugs a handful of grass and throws it at his feet.

 

“It really is quite unfortunate,” Zelda calls out to him, laughing to herself as he springs up suddenly.

 

Zelda drops down the broken walkway carefully. “Oh no, please, sir knight, don’t get up on my account,” she teases.

 

Link stays sitting, but raises an eyebrow at her tone.

 

“I was only thinking to myself,” she notes as she makes her way over to his side, “how sad it is, that this poor courtyard has survived monsters, rogue Guardians, and even Ganon himself, only to be torn apart by the Hero of Hyrule.”

 

Said Hero throws the next handful at her face. It doesn’t make it, falling weakly to the ground at her feet, but she gasps and holds a hand to her chest in mock offense.

 

“Link! After all we’ve been through together, you would commit this, the most serious of treason? Attempted murder of the last royal blood of Hyrule?”

 

Link pulls out two more handfuls, aiming at her face and failing with each throw.

 

“Guards! Guards!” Zelda shouts as blades of grass rain down on her boots. She catches some of them and throws them back at Link with equal success. “Help! The Hero has risen against the crown! He wishes to take it for himself!”

 

At that, Link stops long enough to make a face. Zelda uses the pause to her advantage, and tries to get a lucky shot in, but the grass only lands on his nose for a brief moment before falling off. She holds back her laughter, just barely, and looks around her with fake horror.

 

“It seems no one will come to aid their Princess,” she sniffles. Link laughs silently, rolling his eyes. Zelda tilts her head, puts a hand on her chin, and considers him. “Since I seem to have lost the support of my faithless guards, would my knight possibly consider arresting himself? As one last courtesy towards his Princess, of course.”

 

Link does a much better job of holding back his amusement as he pretends to think it over with great sobriety. He puts a hand up to his chin, stroking the air as if he had a rather marvelous beard. It’s such an obviously horrendous imitation of the King that Zelda can’t keep from spurts of giggle. He picks a lone blade of grass, spinning it between his fingers and tilting his head this way and that ,just like her father used to play with his quills when thinking something over. Zelda bursts out laughing, and while she’s distracted, Link brandishes the grass like a sword and smushes it into the side of her thigh like it an exceptionally limp dagger.

 

“Oh Hylia!” Zelda cries dramatically. She slumps to her knees, spins, and lands hard on Link’s side. She grins in satisfaction at the grunt of annoyed pain. “Feel by my own knight! A tragic fate for the noble princess!”

 

Link shoulders her off his side and the Princess of Hyrule falls hard to the ground. He signs something to her, but she’s too busy pretending to whine in pain and laughing so hard she misses it. Half the wind’s been knocked out of her, but all she can do is laugh. Later she’ll admit to herself it probably wasn’t that funny, but the sun is warm, she’s clean and well-rested again, and they’re both wondrously alive. If her laughter is teetering towards hysterical, well, thankfully it’s only her and Link.

 

When the giggle wear off, and Zelda can open her eyes again, she see something she’d feared she might never see again.

 

Clear blue skies above Hyrule Castle. If she wasn’t so breathless form laughing, the view might have taken it away. Instead, she sighs and closes her eyes, trying to commit the sight and the moment to memory. Something about today makes it all seem real. The sky above her, the warm body behind her. It really is over. Just for a second, Zelda allows herself the soft rush of relief in the moment of peace. It’s only ruined by her own eagerness to get going to see Impa.

 

She bounces up to a sitting position, but her smile falters when she sees her knight.

 

Link hasn’t moved; he isn’t even plucking at the grass anymore. Instead, he’s looking out across the fields of Hyrule, blue eyes narrowed and mouth drawn in a tight line. It’s so far from his usual, carefully guarded self, Zelda almost doesn’t know how to react.

 

“Link?” she ventures. Immediately, Link turns to her, face hard and focused once again. “Are you… alright?”

 

Link nods slightly. For all the time that she’s known him, she can’t see past him when he wants to something to himself. No amount of questioning or pestering or concern would make him open up. It used to frustrate her, oh Hylia it irked her to no end. But when she stopped talking, and started watching and listening, then was she able to hear him. Grow close to him. Now, though, watching Link stand and gather his things, acting like she’d never asked him anything at all, she’s worried.

 

She knows better than to ask again. But, as she stands with him, her heart gets the better of her mind.

 

“Link,” she says as she sidesteps in front of him, blocking the way up to her study. His face is still unreadable, though Zelda watches closely. She takes a breath, and hopes things haven’t changed that much. “Please,” she pleads.

 

Link doesn’t look away for a long moment. Zelda _still_ can’t read him. She certainly doesn’t expect him to turn away from her, run a hand through his bangs and kick the ground. After a minute, when he doesn’t turn back, she takes a hesitant step closer.

 

“Link? Did you… want to talk about it? I won’t force you to.”

 

She can see his shoulders sag, and hopes she hasn’t pushed him too far. He was never an open person, especially about his own problems. An ironic dichotomy, considering how she could never seem to keep her feelings to herself.

 

Finally, thankfully, hesitantly, Link turns to her.

_I thought_ , Link signs slowly, _that when we defeated Ganon, I’d get my memories back._

 

Zelda’s heart drops into her stomach.

 

“So… you don’t remember me.” _You lied_ , she doesn’t say.

__

_No_ _, no nono,_ Link signs emphatically. _I got… bits and pieces. Of my life before. From places we had been, where you took pictures on the Sheikah Slate. I do remember you._

 

Zelda would feel relieved, if Link didn’t look like remembering her was the only thing he regretted about his entire journey. The furrow in his brows made him look like every memory with her was painful. Was this what was troubling him? Before she can ask, Link’s hands are moving again.

_That’s all I remember. Not, not Mipha, or Daruk, or even my family. _

 

Zelda’s heart stops, and she gasps in shock. Oh. Oh Hylia, she was so focused on herself, she never even stopped to ask or consider-

_I want to miss them, like I missed you._

 

Her eyes flick to his, which are just barely blinking away tears. Zelda balls her hands into fists to keep herself in place, to resist reaching out to him.

_I can’t even remember enough about them to miss them. All I have is this vague feeling that they were there, that I loved them and that I’m missing something. I’ve forgotten our friends, I’ve forgotten the people I love._ Link’s hands are steady, even as Zelda’s shake with emotion. She’s close to tears herself, but she won’t let herself cry. Why hadn’t she realized sooner? She may have lost her kingdom; Link lost everything. She can’t even begin to think how that must feel.

 

Selfish. She’s been selfish this whole time, worried about herself instead of her dearest friend. He stands across the yard, putting on a brave face, but she sees the hurt in his eyes.

_Can you… can you tell me about them?_

 

Zelda rushes to close the space between them, gather knight up in her arms and squeeze him tightly. She can’t tell if the noise he makes is out of surprise or lack of air. She hugs him even tighter, lifting his heels off the ground.

 

When she’s finally done, she sets her poor friend down, wipes her eyes, and puts on a brave face. Link looks up at her, more open and vulnerable than she’s ever seen him.

 

“Of course,” she promises. She grabs his hands and holds them tight. “I’ll tell you all about them on the road to Kakariko. It’ll be like they’re traveling with us.”

 

Zelda smiles brightly, and to her surprise and relief, Link gives her a shaky smile back.

 

Zelda’s heart lifts immediately. She turns to the study to get their things to leave, climbing up to the walkway easily, As soon as Link catches up and they gather their bags, she begins.

 

“The first thing you should know is that Daruk has a weakness. He’s not so mighty as he thinks, though I’d never tell anyone that he’s scared of dogs. Except you of course. I don’t think they’d believe me, I wouldn’t either if I hadn’t seen it myself. You know, one time he even asked me if Ganon was a dog. He was shaking like a leaf the whole time, I could tell he was actually worried. I’m not proud to say I couldn’t help but laugh, but you know he never took it to heart…”


	3. Losses

Link was used to certain things. Certain parts of Hyrule field, certain sounds that prompted frantic running and a hastily drawn bow. Certain doom. So, if he walked past the now-still Guardians with a smug sense of satisfaction, no one could say he didn’t have a right.

 

Except for Zelda, who caught him sticking his tongue out at one and immediately dissolved into laughter.

 

“I don’t blame you,” she pacifies him between giggles, “I’ve just never seen you do something so silly.”

 

Link pretend to be angry with her, squinting his eyes and crossing his arms, which only serves to make her laugh more. With the same stony face as ever, he asks, _What about your grassassination?_

 

Zelda sputters behind her hands, eye twinkling and face slightly red. She turns away from him, holding up a finger and trying to collect herself. After a huff and several cough later, she turns around, significantly more red in the face, but attempting to look dignified anyway. Impressively, it almost works. She regards him with an appraising eye.

 

“Where were you hiding all this humor one hundred years ago?”

 

Link only shrugs in response. He’s used to hearing that. You weren’t always so fun! Or, when did you get so silly, Linny? Must’ve been some nap! He’d always assumed he was the same, but he tended to believe the long-lived Zora, especially those that seemed to remember him more than he remembered himself. If he had changed, and he wasn’t sure how or why, he was glad it was for the better. He liked making people laugh anyway.

 

And that’s why he kicks the sorry hunk of junk and marches away like he’s won.

 

Just as expected, Zelda explodes in a fit of giggles. She tries valiantly to look cross with him, but she’s not doing very well, growing redder as she watches him huff and turn away from it like a snotty child. She looks like she’s about to break through her laughter to say something smart, when something shifts behind him.

 

A grinding noise he knows all too well.

 

Before Zelda can even open her mouth to shout in warning, Link is pulling out his shield and running to cover her. She grips the back of his tunic as he spins to face the Guardian. A Guardian that, despite everything they fought for, has its strange blue eye focused on Link.

 

Even stranger, that’s all.

 

There’s no familiar red light, no countdown, no running. There’s certainly a stream of sweat already running down the back of his neck, but the thing isn’t moving, not even the head.

 

It’s Zelda that moves first, damn her morbid curiosity. Mostly because he seems to have caught tit himself, and doesn’t stop her from walking over to it. He draws hi sword anyway, and follows close behind.

 

Zelda reaches out to touch it, thinks better of it, and pulls her hand back. She looks back at Link, and he recognizes the look in her eyes.

 

“It’s not infected with malice,” Zelda says in wonder. “Maybe not all of them are offline. Maybe we could use them still!”

 

Zelda kneels next to it, hands not quite touching but flickering over its hull excitedly. Link isn’t so sure they have much of a use outside of war with Ganon, but he says nothing. She catches his doubtful look and clicks her tongue.

 

“Well, maybe I’m getting ahead of myself,” she admits. Her eyes grow downcast as her hands fall into her lap. Link knows exactly what she’s thinking of. Dozens of books that Zelda promised they would never need again, added to the mattress fire below her study. Though most of them were beyond repair, molded and eaten and burnt, the way she hesitated before tossing them into the fire told him it was more symbolic than anything else. She looks now like she did then. Link puts away his sword and shield, but before he can even attempt to comfort Zelda she’s grabbing a hold of his Sheikah slate.

 

“Hold on,” she says as she grabs his belt and tugs it off. She moves fast when she’s focused, even though she scooted over on her knees. Link leans over her shoulder unconsciously, curious as she flips through the runes. He nearly falls on his back when she jumps up excitedly. “I’ve always wanted to do this.”

 

Her soft voice and small, guilty smile has him suspicious until she lifts the slate up and he can see a perfect image of their faces and the Guardian behind them.

 

Link raises an eyebrow with a small smirk, and Zelda blushes. “I never got to before. And this one is harmless! It’s the perfect opportunity.”

 

He rolls his eyes and Zelda hip checks him as she scoots over. He pushes his shoulder against hers in retaliation, but she only uses it as an excuse to pose with him. Her glare has him laughing silently, and her smile when he raises his hands to pose with her makes him forget the danger for a moment.

 

That is until Zelda lifts the slate to take a picture, with the Guardian behind them lighting up in brilliant blue just as Zelda takes the picture.

 

Link takes in a breath, and something strange happens. The world shifts suddenly, and Link is kneeling over Zelda’s form as the Guardians beam fires. It heats the air above them for a split second just before blasting into the ground just ahead of their bodies, still aiming where their heads hand been. Link ducks his head, to protect himself and the princess as the fire from the blast envelopes them. He feels the heat rush against his back, but his Champion’s tunic has endured worse and shockwave runs off like water. The smell of scorched hair floods his nose, and he hears Zelda cough from the stench and the ash.

 

She’s interrupted by a chilling warning.

 

Link draws his bow as he flips onto his back. The Guardian is moving again, and he struggles to blink through the ash in his eye and _aim._ It’s already surrounded by its blue light. His breath catches in his throat as recognizes the final tones of the countdown. He has to fire-

_Now._

 

The Guardian’s glass eye cracks satisfyingly as the ancient arrow hits its mark. Link feels his breath leave him as the thing’s legs give out and it convulses before blowing up. The gears and screw chime as the clatter to the ground, and then the morning is silent again.

 

Zelda coughs again as she pulls herself off the ground. Link turns to her immediately, concerned. But Zelda is fine, except for her clothes, which are ruined yet again. Link sighs in relief. He puts up his bow and offers her his hand to help her up. He swore he smelt hair burning, but it must have been his panic and the smoke. Just as he dismisses it, he sees Zelda’s eyes grow wide in shock.

 

“Link!” she gasps. As if on cue, he feels his hair tie fall down his back. There’s a distinct lack of hair falling with it, but the burnt smell hits him again. Zelda covers her mouth with her hands, muffling her horrified words. “Your _hair_.”

 

Link’s hand feels the back of his hair, which is short and slightly singed. He can’t remember his hair ever being anything but long, but running his hand through less than an inch of hair feels very wrong. He’d always loved his long hair, but in the moment his disappointment is overshadowed by the relief that his whole scalp hadn’t been burned off.

 

“Oh Link I’m so sorry,” Zelda whispers, as if raising her voice might incur his wrath. “If I hadn’t, that _stupid_ picture-“

 

Zelda pauses from looking Link over and looks around her. Her grip on his poor arm turns vicelike when she turns to the burnt patch of land behind him. Link is pulled out of his shock over his hair by her sudden strength. He tries to pull his arm back, but Zelda’ focus is elsewhere and her grip like concrete. He follows her gaze, perplexed. She lets him go as soon as he sees what stopped her.

 

Oh.

 

Zelda walks over to the edge of the blasted ground slowly, hands balled up to her chest. Link is frozen as she bends down and pick up the Sheikah slate. Its screen is dark and cracked, and a few pieces fall off as Zelda pick it ups. She touches the screen gingerly, with no response.

 

The damn thing had to choose now to fall apart, in Zelda’s trembling hands, rather than every time he’s been thrown off a Lynel, fallen off a cliff, or been kicked by a Moblin. The slate had survived it all, and Link had thanked the eternal Sheikah tech for its mystical invulnerability. Now, not so much. Then again, if ancient weapons were a Guardian’s weakness, maybe it’s not so surprising that the killing blow would be a Guardian’s blast.

 

It takes him a moment to realize that Zelda is staring at him, like her heart shattered with the slate. Link scrambles to join her, signing hurriedly.

_Don’t worry about it._

 

“But your pictures,” Zelda breathes. During the talks about the Champions, after he had told her what little memories he did have of them, he’d shown her the pictures that had led him to his memories. He’d accidentally scrolled too far right to a picture of Cottla and the first meal she’d made with him. Zelda had been full of questions, and pretty soon he was going through his entire album with her. All the pictures of his journey, the most important ones he had saved no matter what. Some didn’t need an explanation; Hyrule was beautiful, it only felt right to preserve some of it somehow when all seemed at its worse. His own moments of peace. Some had a story, like the five girls of the little Rito choir, or the Guardian that had fallen on its side during a storm and had pathetically twisted as it tried in vain to track him.

 

And now they’re gone.

Zelda catches the look on his face before he can hide it and rushes to apologize. “I’m so sorry Link. I just, I just wanted to have a picture with you. I just wanted a picture together, and I thought it would be funny, I never expected….” Zelda trails off as she follows his gaze to the slate in her hands. His face is as unreadable as it ever was, but she can see the tension leave his shoulders when he sighs.

_It’s fine,_ he signs. It’s then that he remembers the slate also held all of his extraneous gear. He curses inwardly, though he knows he has enough at his home in Hateno that they’ll be fine on weapons and rupees once they get there. In the meantime, he’ll have to make do, and hope he doesn’t need to swim up a waterfall or make a trip into the desert.

 

“I’m sorry,” Zelda insists. She reaches out and touches his short hair with a frown. Her eyebrows furrow with guilt. “Thank you for saving me,” she says as her eyes flick over to his, and she blushes as she pulls her hand back quickly. Link ignores the heat in his face, watching numbly as Zelda bites her lip and switches her focus to the Sheikah slate. It looks pretty pitiful, screen dark with a perfect little hole where it had  been hit.

 

Link doesn’t know what else to say to comfort her, but she doesn’t seem to nee it. There’s a fire in her eyes again when she look back up to him, like he saw in them as she pulled away rubble in her study. He’s simultaneously elated and cautious.

 

“I’ll fix it,” she assures him. “I’ll get them back.”

 

He must have accidentally made some sort of face, because she shakes her head dismissively. “I won’t make you lose this again.” Her gaze burns into him, and he knows there’s no use arguing.

 

Link places a hand on her arm, which seems to calm her a bit. Encouraged, he takes it back to sign gently. _It’s fine. I still have them._

 

Zelda’s look of confusion almost makes him laugh.

_This time I can keep the memory._

 

Link smiles as he puts a hand on her shoulder. After a stunned blink, Zelda nods shakily. She pulls in a deep breath as she takes stock of the blast area, the leftover Guardian parts, and the pitiful slate in her hands.

 

“Alright,” she sighs after a moment. She smiles weakly at Link, but at least now she looks happy. He waits as she brushes dirt off her clothes, feeling slightly guilty that shielding her kept him from the worst of the mud. However, he thinks as he reaches up to the back of his head, maybe he wasn’t so lucky.

 

Zelda’s eyes track his hands, but Link holds up a finger to stop what looked like another apology. She smiles ruefully, stepping over the smoldering grass back to the road.

 

“It’ll grow back,” she says consolingly, mostly to herself even though she directs it at Link as she turns back to make sure he’s following. When she sees he’s not far behind, she shoots him a much brighter smile than the one before. “It looks handsome, anyway.”

 

Link flushed, and when he goes to rub the back of head out of nervous habit, he hopes he’ll get used to it soon. His other hand tries to rest on the handle of the Sheikah slate at his hip, only to fall on nothing and startle him. Two things he’ll have to get used to.

 

He sneaks a glance at Zelda to make sure she didn’t see him fumble. She’s focused on the path ahead of them, and he sighs to himself. That look is still in her eyes. He can tell there’ll be more about the slate later, that she won’t give up easily. It’s usually a good thing, her dedication, but Link remembers the second slate still on her desk in her study and grimaces.

 

He doesn’t want to discourage her, but he knows there’s a danger to her determination. She’ll blame herself if she can’t live up to expectations. Suddenly he wishes he had used another example to encourage her days before. Link knows she can fix it. Maybe not now, but one day when she’s got enough resources and time she’ll be able to fix the slate. He’s afraid, as he watches her out of the corner of his eye, that she’ll let this hurt her before she can regain the confidence she needs.

 

The slate isn’t that important, after all. He’s started with nothing before and it’s no hardship to do it again. This time he can take the memories with him, every picture and place he’s saved to the slate is still there. Every warm memory that he treasure more than every diamond and gem kept under his bed in Hateno. As long as he has them still, the slate doesn’t matter.

 

Looking over at Zelda, who looks down at the slate with steely eyes, he can only hope her determination doesn’t hurt her before it can help her.


End file.
